


Quaffles and Questions

by JMilz



Series: A Magical Collection of Unexpected Ships [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, F/M, One Shot, Quidditch, Rare Pairings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25939279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JMilz/pseuds/JMilz
Summary: I needed a break from editing, so I used a random character generator to come up with this ship. I think I might do a small collection of these when I need a break from edits. So here we are. Possibly the world's first Rolanda Hooch/Igor Karkaroff.I think we're going to go with Hoocharoff. Do you ship it? Let me know!
Relationships: Madam Hooch/Igor Karkaroff
Series: A Magical Collection of Unexpected Ships [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887604
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Quaffles and Questions

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a break from editing, so I used a random character generator to come up with this ship. I think I might do a small collection of these when I need a break from edits. So here we are. Possibly the world's first Rolanda Hooch/Igor Karkaroff.
> 
> I think we're going to go with Hoocharoff. Do you ship it? Let me know!

Igor had never been prouder. His star pupil was not only a world-famous Quidditch player, but now, he was also going to be a Triwizard Champion and, if he had anything to say about it, the winner of the Triwizard Cup. Grinning to himself, he joined the Hogwarts staff and Madame Maxime for yet another delicious British feast full of hearty potatoes, cheese, and meat. He reminded himself to tell the elves at Durmstrang to learn how to make a treacle tart.

He felt sick at the thought of returning to his usual meal of lutefisk.

As usual, Madame Maxime complained for the first twenty minutes of the meal, earning small grunts of agreement from the half-giant gamekeeper that she was disgustingly and obviously smitten with. Igor suspected the great oaf would eat dirt if she weren't looking.

" _En France_ , we 'ave so much more flaveur!" She patted Albus's liver-spotted hand. "You should hire French elves in zee future, Albus. Zey do not disappoint!"

When she took a long drink of wine, Igor found his opportunity to intervene.

"Albus, I had a small question," he started, "if I may?"

"Of course, Igor. And a brief note, my old friend: You needn't be so formal in coming months. As long as Hogwarts is home to you and your students, you should treat it as such."

"Yes, all right," Igor muttered, catching a glare from Severus Snape from the far end of the table. He decided it was best to ignore him. "Viktor—he needs to stay, how do you say...practiced? For the Quidditch season."

"You are asking permission for him to use the Quidditch pitch?" Minerva interrupted, sharply. "When we already so clearly stated that nobody is to use it outside of Triwizard events this year?"

"He is a professional. He must stay in shape."

"Well, there are other ways to stay in shape, Igor! There's the lake, and plenty of room to run on the grounds—"

"Minerva," Albus said, lightly, though there was a tinge of warning in his voice, "Igor is quite right. The circumstances are not the same for Viktor as they are for the rest of our students."

"Albus, you aren't seriously considering allowing it? Hogwarts students have been told they are barred from the pitch all year—"

"It won't be for me to decide. Managing the Quidditch Pitch has long fallen under Madam Hooch, and I do not see why it should change during the many days that it goes unused this year." He glanced across the long table and then winked at Igor. "As a matter of fact, I suspect you could find her there now, considering she has not joined us this evening."

Minerva and Severus looked furious, but Igor didn't quite care.

"Thank you, Albus," he said, dabbing his mouth. "I will see if I can find her."

* * *

Madam Hooch was livid. The Triwizard Tournament had led to the full cancelation of the entire Quidditch season—her favorite part of the school year. Without it, she had little to look forward to, and in an attempt to avoid confronting Albus Dumbledore, she was organizing the equipment in the broom shed.

Just as she had neatly sorted through the many Cleansweeps, they all toppled to the floor.

"Damn it!"

Frustrated, she mumbled a spell at them and turned her attention to the half-dozen Comets that were carelessly intermingling with the child-sized Silver Arrows. It seemed fitting to get familiar with the tiny broomsticks, because she would be spending an awful lot of time with them in the courtyard with the first-years.

"Bloody Triwizard—"

Suddenly, she heard a knock against the open door. She gasped and wheeled around.

"Igor! I—I didn't see you there." Her cheeks felt very warm, all of a sudden, as she realized he probably heard her complaining about the tournament. "I assumed you would be at the feast."

"Ah well, it came to my attention that you did not join us, and I was hoping to discuss something with you..." he drawled, looking around the broom shed. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"Of course you aren't." She quickly seized the Silver Arrows and moved them to their proper place. Perhaps if she didn't look him in the eye, he would not notice the embarrassing shade of pink that she had become. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He cuffed his hands behind his back.

"A witch that gets right to the point. Very good."

"And a wizard that is avoiding that very point." Feeling the blush subside, she peered up at him. "In English, that's a hint to get on with it, Igor. I do suggest that you do."

"Ah, my apologies, Madam. I won't waste much more of your precious time," he chuckled. "It is about my student, Viktor Krum."

"Ah, Mr. Krum," Madam Hooch echoed, turning back around to stack several wriggling bludger boxes, "our resident Quidditch star for the year."

"So you understand his status."

Bludgers in place, she rounded on him, a bit insulted that he seemed to question her knowledge of the sport. "I'm a Quidditch specialist, Igor. I may not play anymore, but that doesn't mean that I don't watch."

"I didn't mean any offense," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "I am only explaining my... _predicament_."

Madam Hooch eyed him as she peeled off her gloves. "Right, well, he's something special, that Seeker of yours, something special indeed. What is it he needs? An autograph from an old Ballycastle Bat?"

Igor's mouth stretched into a grin. "While I am sure he would appreciate it, that is not why I've come. You see, for Viktor to partake in the league this coming year, he will need to stay in fighting condition."

"Obviously," Madam Hooch said, stiffly. She had begun busying herself with reorganizing the many shades of wood polish.

"Minerva suggested swimming, but that is already part of his training. To get the...how do you say it? _The full experience?_ He will need to fly."

With a Quaffle tucked under her arm, Madam Hooch came to a halt.

"You're asking for permission to let him use the pitch."

Igor nodded. "I hate to ask for favoritism, but he is a unique case, you see."

"Yes, of course he is," she snapped.

"Will you allow it, then?"

She straightened her posture and put the practice Quaffle up on a a high shelf where it belonged. She cursed when it rolled down.

"I don't know," she replied, sternly, reaching down to grab the Quaffle again. "It isn't professional grade."

"Not professional grade? We wouldn't stand for such shortcomings at Durmstrang," he purred. "Though at Durmstrang, no silly tournament would cancel the entire Quidditch season either, so perhaps Albus simply doesn't care about the sport as much as he should."

Madam Hooch cocked a slim brow. "I've told him that myself."

"A wise woman," he noted, circling her. "So you will allow it? The quality of the pitch will not be a problem. Viktor only needs to practice."

She fixed her catlike eyes upon him.

"Krum can use the pitch on one condition, Karkaroff."

"Which is?"

"A date," she said, strictly, mounting the school's only Nimbus 2000 upon the shed wall. "It's my understanding there's a ball this year."

"Yes, the Yule Ball," Igor confirmed, "as is tradition."

"Great." She grabbed one of the nicer practice Quaffles and shoved it into his hands. "You take me to the ball, and your Triwizard Champion has a place to practice."

Igor grinned. "I'm partial to deals that benefit me twice."

"Me too, Karkaroff. And if the date's good enough, you may even benefit a third time." She winked at him. "Tell your Krum to let me know when he's practicing. I'll help him run some drills."

And with that, she stepped out of the broom shed, leaving Igor Karkaroff with his mouth ajar.


End file.
